by Mesu Andrews
Dinah shivered as another cold breeze swept away the summer heat. She nearly bolted for cover when lightning skittered across the sky.
But Elihu was like a child at play, dancing delightedly among the ashes as the first drops of rain splattered the red dust and drummed the canopy overhead. “Who can understand how El Shaddai spreads out the clouds or scatters lightning across the face of the earth?”
Another great peal of thunder rattled the foundations, and tiny beads of hail began to bounce off the canyon floor like pearls from heaven. Elihu’s praise sank deeply into Dinah’s soul like rain into the thirsty soil.
“Listen! God’s voice rumbles in marvelous ways. His breath produces ice, and water freezes. He brings floods to punish men, but the same clouds water the earth and show His love.” Elihu ran to the courtyard wall beyond the canopy, catching a handful of hail like evidence at a trial. “Tell me, Abba, can we, with our limited understanding, draw up a righteous defense for ourselves to the Most High?” Turning to the elders, he said, “You were right—all of you—when you told Abba Job that El Shaddai is beyond our reach. But you misrepresent God’s power if you allow any shadow of oppression to fall from His hand. Fear Him, yes, but recognize His work as a loving expression to draw a man closer, not crush or repel him.”
Dinah saw a golden light split the northern sky, brighter than the sun, shimmering like rushing water. It descended over the canyon and lingered, an indefinable, shapeless pattern. The roar accompanying it was rolling thunder and sea combined—not a voice, but an understanding, a knowing. She could not look away; she did not want to—ever. For the first time, she understood Job’s words, “Though He might slay me—He is still my God, my only hope of deliverance.”
Wind blew rain sideways and battered her face. Dinah drew Nogahla close, and they huddled together in awe of the shimmering light and darkening clouds around them. Rain mixed with snow and ice pelted them. Incredible. Dinah glanced aside to see if Job was all right.
The sight was as shocking as snow in a summer drought. Job was standing, arms lifted to the sky, displaying more strength than she’d seen in over a year.
Every sore, every wound on Job’s body, buzzed as though bees’ wings enveloped him—not stinging, simply kissing his skin with their vibration. The rumble of God’s voice quaked through his inner being.
Who is this that darkens My counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man, and I will question you, and you will answer Me.
Job tried to bow his head, tried to close his eyes, but he could not. God willed his attention, and he could not look away. He wondered fleetingly about the others. Could they see El Shaddai? Could they hear His voice? Job was not the keeper of the covenant promise as Jacob was. How could Yahweh be speaking to him? But he had little time for trivial considerations before the God of the universe began His interrogation.
Where were you, Job, when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell Me if you understand who marked off its dimensions. Surely you know! Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea? What is the way to the abode of light? Have you entered the storehouses of snow or seen the storehouses of hail, which I reserve for times of trouble? Who endowed the heart with wisdom or gave understanding to the mind?
Finally, Job felt released, and he fell forward in worship, his face in the ash and dung. He dared not answer, dared not utter a word.
Do you hunt the prey for the lioness and satisfy the hunger of the lions? Do you know when the mountain goats give birth? Do you watch when the doe bears her fawn? Will the wild ox consent to serve you? Does the eagle soar at your command?
Job lifted his head, felt the cold breeze against his tingling skin, and saw the shimmering light transformed into a column reaching to the heavens. The Voice in Job’s spirit changed to a Voice his ears now perceived.
The elders fell on their faces, crying for mercy, their fine linen robes mired in the rain-covered slop.
“We are destroyed!” Bildad bellowed. “Yahweh has judged us!”
“We have spoken foolishly!” Zophar wept aloud.
Job peered out of the muck to see a smile on Elihu’s face. “Elohim! Elohim! You show Your power through snow, ice, and rain on a desert summer day!”
The Voice rattled the red cliffs around them. “Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct Him? Let him who accuses God answer Him!”
“I have no defense, Yahweh, for the things I said,” Job replied. “I am unworthy to speak another word in Your presence—I put my hand over my mouth.”
Through tears, Job glanced at Dinah, Nogahla, and Aban, who knelt with their faces in the dirt. Dinah’s faith was surely strong enough to have withstood his senseless blustering, but what of Nogahla and Aban? Had Job’s faithless words damaged the budding devotion of those who knew little of El Shaddai? Heartbroken, he looked into the shimmering column.
The light swelled, and the rain beat out the rhythm of God’s rebuke, His voice no longer an inner knowing but a resounding drum for all to hear. “Brace yourself, Job, and you will answer Me.”
Job’s heart withered, but at the same time, he exulted in God’s presence.
“Would you discredit My justice to tout your righteousness? Would you condemn Me to justify yourself?” A horrendous peal of thunder shook the earth. “Can you make your voice thunder like Mine or reduce proud and wicked men to the grave? On the day you can do those things, I will admit you have the right to question Me.”
The fluttering sensation on Job’s skin ceased, and panic stirred in his belly. Don’t leave me! he prayed, keeping his gaze focused on the shimmering column. Suddenly he felt as if a sword sliced through his heart. In agony, he screamed and rolled onto his back. When he looked up, Dinah hovered over him, her lips moving but uttering no sound. He glanced at the elders, shock and terror still etched on their faces, but only the Voice resounded in his ears.
“Consider the hippopotamus, Job, which I made along with you—except he feeds on grass like an ox.” The absurdity of the comparison nearly made Job chuckle. Why would God speak of a hippopotamus at this most holy moment? “I endowed him with physical power, bones like bronze, and limbs like iron. He ranks first among My works.”
Job gripped his chest, feeling the definition of every rib. He had once been muscular and sinewy. Had he too been ranked first among God’s works?
Lightning flashed, and the searing pain in Job’s chest intensified.
“Yet his Maker can approach the mighty behemoth with His sword.”
Why would God need a sword to approach anything in creation? Job’s heart beat wildly—was it the pain or the unanswered questions?
“Wild animals play nearby while the mighty hippo sleeps in the shade of the lotus plants, and when the river rages, he is not alarmed. He is secure, Job.” The last words came as a whisper. The rain and storm ceased completely. “Can anyone capture him or trap him?”
Job wanted to laugh at that. Of course no one could capture the behemoth, but when he gazed at Elihu and the elders, he understood God’s message. Why hadn’t Job, like the hippopotamus, rested in his Maker’s ability to sustain him when the storms of life raged? Why had he instead raged against God and his friends so fiercely?
“Do you think you can snag the leviathan with a fishhook?” the Voice continued. “If you lay a hand on him, you will remember the struggle and never do it again! No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who could stand against Me? Who dares file a claim that I must pay when everything under heaven belongs to Me?”
The searing pain in Job’s chest eased, relief coming with a great sigh. In the presence of such wonder, he marveled at his foolish demands on the Most High. Had he been utterly mad?
“Who can strip off the leviathan’s outer coat, his back with rows of shields tightly sealed together? Joined fast, they cling together and cannot be parted.”
Job marveled as the snow began falling again, gently now. A chill surged through him as the Voice continued a description that felt to
o familiar.
“His snorting throws out flashes of light, and fire streams from his mouth.”
In his misery, Job had become the leviathan. Donning an impenetrable outer shield, he had roared fiery accusations against his friends and God.
“The leviathan makes the depths churn like a boiling cauldron, and behind him he leaves a glistening wake. One would think the deep had white hair.”
Silently now, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar stared at him from across the dung pile, their faces wasted, withered, aged. They had entered Job’s nightmare, but their pride couldn’t compare to the leviathan.
“Nothing on earth is his equal,” the Voice concluded. “He looks down on all that are haughty; he is king over all that are proud.”
Job bowed his head, broken. “I know You can do all things, Yahweh,” he whispered, his voice full of reverence. “All Your plans will be fulfilled. I spoke of things far beyond my ability to comprehend. My ears had heard of You, but now my eyes have seen You. I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”
For the first time in over a year, Job felt no pain in his body, yet his spirit ached to be forgiven. He had been so certain of his righteousness. Now his only certainty lay in his desire to please the merciful God who had spared his life after he had spoken so recklessly. He placed his forehead into the ashes and waited for God’s judgment. Whatever Yahweh decided, he was convinced the punishment would be just.
The relatives’ whimpering had ceased in anticipation of Yahweh’s imminent response, and the ragged breaths of eight awestruck believers kept rhythm as the snow ceased and the lively patter of raindrops returned. Job raised his head from the mire and heard the thunderous Voice. Surprisingly, Yahweh’s rebuke shifted to the elders.
“Eliphaz the Temanite, I am angry with you and your two friends, because you have not spoken of Me what is right, as My servant Job has. So now take seven bulls and seven rams and go to My servant Job and sacrifice a burnt offering for yourselves. My servant Job will pray for you, and I will accept his prayer and not deal with you according to your folly.”
The Voice imposed judgment, and the red cliffs resounded with finality as the shimmering light throbbed. Job was breathless. Had El Shaddai really said the elders had spoken wrongly and he had spoken what was right?
But El Shaddai, I challenged You carelessly. His heart squeezed in his chest. How could he be judged innocent and the others found guilty?
Looking up, Job saw Uncle Eliphaz ensconced in an ethereal glow, his face turned heavenward, tears like raindrops streaming down his white beard. But Zophar lay in a fetal coil, face covered, weeping incongruent vows of allegiance and defiance. Bildad wept like a child in Elihu’s arms and then suddenly beat the sludge with his fists, crying, “Elohim, I have studied Your teachings. I spoke the truth!” Elihu, seemingly shocked and ashamed, tried to quiet the old man, but Bildad shoved him away and wept alone in the melting pile of dung.
El Shaddai, Job prayed, Eliphaz shows a repentant heart, but Bildad and Zophar seem unchanged by Your rebuke. Job watched the shimmering light for some response. Nothing. He waited for the stabbing pain in his chest or the buzzing sensation in his body—a second command or confirmation of Yahweh’s forgiveness. None came.
My servant Job will pray for you, the Voice had said, and I will accept his prayer and not deal with you according to your folly.
Job glanced at Aban. The captain looked full of anticipation, the blowing rain creating rivers down his ash-and-dung-covered face. “I will summon a cart to carry you to the mountaintop altar, my friend,” he said softly, as if coaxing Job’s obedience.
Dinah must have heard Aban’s offer over Bildad’s and Zophar’s din. “We could use some blankets to soften your ride, Job.” Her words were pleading too.
Job turned to Nogahla. Gazing into those big, bold eyes was like looking into an obsidian mirror. In hesitating to forgive, he saw his reflection in those he resented. He was Zophar, allowing anger to soar into hatred. He was Bildad, carving his opinions as sacred rules into stone. He was Eliphaz, elevating his holiness to alienate those he loved.
Job will pray for you, and I will accept his prayer and not deal with you according to your folly.
It was only by Yahweh’s mercy that anyone was forgiven. No one was worthy. No lamb or goat was a sufficient sacrifice. Only El Shaddai’s loving favor made it possible for any human to come before Him.
“Do my brothers have the seven bulls and seven rams for their sacrifice?” Job shouted, his voice resounding in the canyon.
Elihu looked up, face alight. “Yes, Abba. They brought a small herd for offerings.” Bildad and Zophar stilled. Eliphaz opened his eyes, awaiting his nephew’s direction. The shimmering column of light remained, and the miraculous summer rain continued its steady drumming on the canopy. A crowd had gathered at the mouth of the canyon, and servants stood outside Aban’s home in awe of the spectacular.
Job turned to Dinah, whose face was radiant. “I will pray for my relatives,” he whispered, “but I ask that you pray for me, dear friend.”
Tears flowed in rivers down her cheeks. Dinah nodded her understanding. Of all Job’s friends, she knew best the lasting scars of inner battles. Dinah knew him best in every way.
22
~Job 42:10–11~
After Job had prayed for his friends . . . all his brothers and sisters and everyone who had known him before came and ate with him in his house. They comforted and consoled him over all the trouble the LORD had brought upon him, and each one gave him a piece of silver and a gold ring.
Dinah’s sandals clicked on the tiled hallway of Aban’s home. “Hurry, Nogahla. We mustn’t be late for the sacrifice again this morning.” Two of the last seven mornings, they’d arrived at Job’s mountaintop altar after dawn’s rays had peeked over the eastern cliffs. Walking from Aban’s fourth-story halls, across the canyon, and up to Job’s mountaintop altar was the equivalent of a morning’s journey for some merchants.
The fact that she and Nogahla were sequestered alone in a spacious bedroom on the fourth floor, while Aban’s servants slept six in a chamber on the ground floor, irritated Dinah like a splinter under her fingernail. Aban’s reasoning seemed sound—to create as little upheaval for his household as possible—but Dinah could hardly stomach the thought of her expansive rooms and woolen mattress while serving maids slept huddled on reed mats. Aban had reserved the second story for Job and the personal servants he intended to hire as soon as Job was sufficiently recovered. But Job’s healing was slow, and the restoration of his wealth would take time.
“Mistress, your frown is back.” Nogahla’s concerned voice broke into Dinah’s thoughts as they hurried down the stairway.
Dinah wished she didn’t wear her heart on her face. “Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket and offering a clove leaf to Nogahla. “Chew on this. It’ll make your breath even sweeter than you are.” Dinah winked and slipped one into her mouth as well, noting Nogahla’s eyebrow lift in understanding.
“I still want to know why your frown is back,” the girl said, crushing the leaf between her teeth.
The two women emerged from Aban’s home and reverently skipped over the steady red stream flowing through the canyon floor. The miraculous summer rains had continued in Uz, though traveling merchants reported the drought had nearly crippled every neighboring region.
Dinah and Nogahla stepped into Job’s home, which now showed distinguishable renovation progress since reputable craftsmen had replaced the Nameless Ones. On their way to Job’s tower steps, Nogahla pressed her concern. “Mistress, are you going to tell me about your frown?”
But Dinah hurried through the curved hallway toward the first stairs they must conquer. “Nogahla, if we use all our breath for talking, we’ll never reach the mountaintop in time for the sacrifice.” They fell into amiable silence, concentrating on their climb, and soon the small rectangle of lavender at the mountaintop entrance exploded into morning.
“430, 431, 4
32! Whew!” Dinah had adopted Elihu’s childhood habit of counting the tower steps aloud, but when she lifted her eyes to the stares of Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar, she nearly swallowed the clove leaf she was chewing.
Elihu stepped forward, extending a friendly hand. “I’m glad to know the workmen haven’t added an extra step.”
Dinah felt her cheeks grow warm. Nogahla grabbed the back of her robe, following meekly behind, and the women settled on a bench beside Aban. Dinah allowed Nogahla to sit between them, casting a sidelong glance at the big man. I suppose I must finally admit you are trustworthy. And she couldn’t deny Aban’s unquenchable thirst for El Shaddai.
Elihu took his customary position, kneeling beside the lamb and making the initial cut. Then arranging the carcass on the altar, he waited while Job blessed the offering and patiently answered each of Aban’s questions.
Dinah stole glances at the three elders, who sat directly across from her, but they never lifted their gaze. The visitors seemed changed somehow—Eliphaz older, Bildad weaker, Zophar thinner. In the week of God’s miraculous rain, Aban had offered fine meals, though it was discovered that Sayyid’s grain storehouses were badly depleted by the drought. The elders accepted only watered wine, however, and returned their food trays untouched—a fast of repentance, they said. Dinah wondered if it was meanness, but she asked forgiveness for that thought at the next morning’s sacrifice.
“Uncle Eliphaz,” Job said, “would you like to explain to Aban the reason we allow fire to completely consume the lamb?” The old Edomite smiled but declined, graciously listening to Job’s explanation that the completeness of the offering illustrates the dedication of the worshiper to God and His teachings.
As Job’s account unfolded, Dinah pondered the ways in which his life had imitated the lamb during the past seven days. As if preparing a clean altar for Job’s sacrifice, Yahweh’s summer rain had washed away the piles of ash and dung from the kitchen courtyard, leaving no traces of the pain that had seeped into it for so long. Then, displaying sacrificial grace, Job had dedicated himself completely to healing relationships with Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. The four men spent hours under the new tent Aban provided as Job’s temporary dwelling on the mountaintop. Amid tears and forgiveness, Dinah witnessed Job’s inner healing manifest outwardly. Fresh, pink skin replaced over half the sores on his body, and worms died by the hundreds, rolling away with his soiled bandages.
